


Winter Soldier in Westeros

by MarshalofMontival



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Bucky gets ISOT'd to Westeros, Canon Divergence - Robert's Rebellion, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, The abduction/elopement/whatever gets interrupted
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-19
Updated: 2017-08-19
Packaged: 2018-12-17 06:03:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,474
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11845464
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MarshalofMontival/pseuds/MarshalofMontival
Summary: Rhaegar thought he was home free with Lyanna. He didn't count on the Winter Soldier.





	Winter Soldier in Westeros

Rhaegar Targaryen leaned back against the cantle of his saddle and stifled a moan. He was used to long days in the saddle, but he had been riding for three days straight, stopping only for night and calls of nature. They had passed Raventree Hall yesterday afternoon and turned south, aiming for the lightly populated lands between Tumbler's Falls and the God's Eye. If they could get over Blackwater Rush undetected, slip over the Mander between Bitterbridge and Tumbleton, cross the Blueburn between Longtable and Grassy Vale, and get past Ashford and Harvest Hall, they could make it to the Dornish Mountains within two moonturns. It would be several more sennights of hard travel through the Red Mountains, but Arthur knew ways through the mountains that were not common knowledge. As well he should, being stony Dornish.

Rhaegar glanced over at Lyanna and smiled. He had half anticipated being refused, but Lyanna had leapt at the chance to escape marriage to Robert Baratheon. Truth be told, he was a little puzzled by the vehemence of Lyanna's language on the subject; as far as he knew, Robert was not abusive. A little fond of good wine, raucous song, and loose women, to be sure, but not violent in his passions. Certainly nothing like the king . . . Rhaegar shook his head. _No matter,_ he thought to himself. _Soon I will have the third head to my dragon, a head born of ice to match those born of fire._ Set against what was to come, nothing mattered. _Nothing_.

He had sent four of his six original companions off in different directions to lay false trails. One pair had gone in the direction of Maidenpool, another towards King's Landing. Only Arthur and Oswell rode with him and Lyanna. With any luck, any pursuit would be led astray. And there would be pursuit at some point, Rhaegar had no doubt. If the Starks and the Baratheons did not come after him, the Martells would. Rhaegar did not relish the prospect of having to bring Oberyn around; the Red Viper's reputation was well-earned. _No matter,_ he thought again. _Once I explain things, Oberyn will come around. He has to. The dragon must have three heads._

Rhaegar was brought out of his brown study by a nudge from Arthur. At an enquiring glance, the Dornish Kingsguard gestured ahead. Standing about a hundred yards away was a single figure, probably a man, although Rhaegar couldn't tell for sure at this distance. Who or whatever he was, he was alone. The rolling plains of this part of the country offered some potential for concealment in the folds and dips of the earth, but the patch of land the figure was standing on was flat in all directions for a good fifty yards, without so much as a bush. He turned back to Arthur. "I don't see anything to be concerned about. He's alone, and we are hardly defenseless."

The Sword of the Morning shrugged. "You wanted to stay out of sight. If pursuers come this way and he's still here, he could give information."

Rhaegar shook his head. "Any information he could give would be days old at best and more probably sennights old. I see no harm in leaving him be." He glanced up at the sun. "In any case, it's midday, or near enough. It would be good to eat on solid ground, rest the horses awhile. He can probably tell us what shape the road ahead is in."

A minute later, Rhaegar and his little party were reining in a half-dozen yards from the figure, who Rhaegar could now plainly see was a man. A tall one, too, easily Rhaegar's height, and at least as broad through the shoulders and the chest. His face was partially obscured by a short beard and shoulder-length black hair. But Rhaegar wasn't interested in his face. What had Rhaegar's attention was the fact that, sewn onto the left breast of the man's brigandine and painted onto the pauldron that encased his left shoulder as closely as if it had grown there was a livery badge depicting a grey direwolf on a white field. Whoever this man was, he has sworn to House Stark. Rhaegar was dumbfounded. _I had no notion that Stark had any adherents this far south. I didn't know that Stark had any adherents between Sunspear and the Neck._

Beside him he heard Lyanna let out her breath in a sighing hiss. "Damn," she muttered. "Barnes."

And good morning to you too, Lady Lyanna," the man said conversationally, his voice marked with an odd accent under the Northern burr. "To you as well, your Grace, Sers."

"You know this man, my lady?" Oswell asked as he shifted his hand closer to the hilt of his sword. Ser Oswell Whent was somewhat readier to draw his blade than Arthur or Rhaegar, especially when the unexpected happened.

Lyanna nodded. "James Barnes, also called Bucky, for some reason. He's one of Father's sworn swords," she said sourly. "Probably the best of the lot." She stood in her stirrups. "I'm not going back, Barnes!" she shouted. "'m not going to live out my life as some sad creature locked in a tower!"

"That's not up to you, ma'am," Barnes said evenly. "I have orders to see you safe to Riverrun, and from there to Storms End. If I have to tie you hand and foot and carry you draped over the back of a horse to do that, I will."

"How did you catch up to us, anyway?" Lyanna demanded. "We've been riding hard for the past three days!"

Barnes shrugged. "I ran. You've seen how fast I can run, ma'am.

Rhaegar frowned. It was, he supposed, possible for a man in excellent condition to outrun a horse over long distances, but only if the man was lightly garbed and equipped. Aside from the brigandine and the oddly close-fitting armor that encased his left arm from shoulder to fingertips, Barnes was carrying a broadsword on his left hip, a long Northern dirk on his right belt, and a quiver of bolts, presumably for the crossbow he was currently cradling in his arms. It was an odd-looking weapon, which appeared to be one crossbow stacked atop another. Rhaegar noticed uneasily that both prods were fully drawn, and bolts loaded in each.

"I'm still not going back," Lyanna said forcefully. "I don't care what orders Father gave you. I'm not going to wed that Baratheon boar."

"With respect, ma'am, that's not up to you," Barnes replied. "I agree Robert's a bit wild, but he's better than most men. He seemed genuinely taken with you at Harrenhal at least. Besides which," he continued, forestalling another outburst from Lyanna, "Don't you want to know how Brandon reacted to the news that you had vanished?"

Lyanna blinked, paused. Barnes must have taken it as assent for he carried on. "He was very upset when word arrived that the prince there had kidnapped you. He came within a breath of calling his friends and riding on King's Landing to demand you back."

Rhaegar felt his blood chill. The king was paranoid at the best of times these days. To have an angry Brandon Stark riding up to the Red Keep making demands . . . "Where is Brandon Stark now, Goodman Barnes?" he demanded. If he was quick enough . . .

"In a cell at Riverrun, if I'm any judge, your Grace," Barnes replied. "I knocked him out and Lord Stark said he would keep him locked up until further notice, if that was what it took to keep him from doing anything rash."

Lyanna tossed her head. "Well, next time you see him, tell him not to worry about me," she snapped. "This is my choice, and mine alone."

Barnes shook his head. "That's not how it works, ma'am," he replied stolidly. "You don't get to run out on your responsibilities."

Arthur sidled his horse forward a pace and put his hand to his sword-hilt. "I don't know if all the snow you get in the North froze your ears, Goodman Barnes," he said calmly. "But the lady clearly said she wasn't going back."

The look Barnes favored the Sword of the Morning with was positively chilly. "What's it to you, southron?" he said coldly, the odd accent under his Northern burr suddenly stronger. "Don't you have a king to guard or something?"

"Our king is here," Arthur replied simply, nodding towards Rhaegar without taking his eyes off Barnes. Rhaegar took that as his cue and leaned forward.

"Let us be frank, Goodman Barnes," he said in his negotiating-with-nobles voice. "Lady Lyanna will not go back with you willingly and three against one is poor odds at the best of times. When the three in question are two Kingsguards and a prince of the blood, it's hardly a contest at all is it?"

Barnes shrugged. "I've fought worse," he said simply.

"I hope you are aware, Goodman, that hindering a prince of the blood about his business is a serious offence," Rhaegar said, injecting a note of sternness into his voice.

"Get between me and my mission, prince, and hindering will the least of your problems," Barnes said evenly, shifting his stance just slightly. Rhaegar took note of how the butt of that odd crossbow of his was already snugged back into his shoulder. The weapon was pointed at the ground still, but Rhaegar doubted that it would take Barnes more than a second to bring the crossbow to his shoulder and loose his bolts.

"I will ask one last time, Goodman Barnes," Rhaegar said flatly. "Stand down and give us the road, or we will resort to steel." Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Arthur and Oswell loosen their swords in their scabbards.

Barnes shook his head. "Can't do that, Prince," he said calmly. "Lord Stark gave me a mission, and I have to see it through. I don't want to kill you, but if you get in my way, I will."

Rhaegar nodded. " _V_ _alar morghulis_ ," he said softly to himself. He turned to Arthur and Oswell. "On my lead, Sers, ride him down."

"As Your Grace commands," Oswell said mildly, donning his helmet and drawing his blade. Arthur said nothing, simply drawing his greatsword Dawn and bringing it before his face in a swordsman's salute.

Barnes apparently believed that such pleasantries were wasted. No sooner had he brought his crossbow up to his shoulder than he let fly. The first bolt punched into the head of Rhaegar's horse, squarely between its eyes. The brain-shot horse didn't even whinny, but simply dropped to its front knees and keeled over. Reflexes born of long hours on horseback and in the practice yard allowed Rhaegar to yank his feet clear of the stirrups and throw himself clear, but he landed hard and had to drop his sword on the way down, to keep from landing on it.

When he had retrieved his sword and gotten back to his feet, the first thing he noticed was that Oswell was lying on the ground with a crossbow bolt through his throat. The next thing he noticed was that Barnes had tossed away his crossbow, side-stepped Arthu's charge, and was swinging a left haymaker into the mouth of Arthur's horse.

Even a battle-trained warhorse, with its mouth dulled by countless hours under the bit, could not simply shrug off such a blow. Arthur's horse reared, screaming in pain and spraying blood and bits of broken teeth from its mouth. Arthur fought desperately to keep his seat and bring the animal back under control, but the horse, mad with pain, threw its head down and its hindquarters up and Arthur Dayne went flying. When he hit the ground, Barnes was already waiting for him. A downward thrust through the neck was all it took.

Barnes left the Sword of the Morning choking on the sword in his throat and started walking towards Rhaegar, his face so composed he might have been studying a slightly boring manuscript instead of fighting for his life. Rhaegar shook himself and brought his sword up into a high guard, cocking the blade up over his right shoulder as he drew his poniard with his left hand.  Barnes didn't even pause as he drew his dirk and spun it into a reverse grip.

Rhaegar locked away the trickle of fear that Barnes' casual demeanor inspired and launched an overhand cut at his head. Barnes moved like lightning. His left hand, the one encased in the strange close-fitting armor, came up and _caught_ the descending blade, twisting it aside and jerking it out of Rhaegar's hand hard enough to leave Rhaegar's hand stinging, and still holding it by the blade he drove the pommel back towards Rhaegar's head. A frantic twist saved Rhaegar from a cracked skull and the Prince of Dragonstone quickstepped backward, switching his poniard over to his right hand. _Seven Hells, but he's strong. Fast too._ Rhaegar could hardly believe it; the Northman had snatched his sword away as easily as he might take a willow switch from a young boy. And, if the quick glance he stole at that strangely armored left hand was anything to go by, the castle-forged steel hadn't even left a scratch.

"Stop!" Lyanna shouted, spurring her horse in between Rhaegar and Barnes."Sergeant Barnes, stand down! That's an order!"

Barnes' only reaction was to toss the dirk into the air, catch it by the blade as it came down, and hurl it through the air to bury itself to the hilt in the neck of Lyanna's horse. Lyanna, no mean horsewoman, managed to get off the horse before it foundered, but she lay where she fell, the wind evidently knocked out of her.

Barnes advanced, inexorable. Rhaegar fought back the fear the man's feats heretofore had inspired and lunged in with his poniard. Barnes caught his wrist with his right hand, guided Rhaegar's dagger aside, and sent a left hook slamming into Rhaegar's rib cage. Rhaegar had just enough time to register the sensation of breaking ribs when that same left hand came back around and drove into his elbow.

Rhaegar screamed involuntarily as his elbow bent the wrong way, his hand opening and the dagger falling away. Then an iron vice clamped around his throat and an irresistible force bore him to the ground. Barnes loomed over him, his face still as composed as if he were taking a cup of wine in a garden. "Who . . . What _are_ you?!" Rhaegar gasped, trying to fight back the pain from his broken ribs and shattered arm.

Barnesâ€™ grey eyes were like stones. " _Zimniy Soldat"_ he replied, his voice hard as ice. "The Winter Soldier." His left fist plowed into Rhaegar's jaw and the prince knew no more.


End file.
